“I can’t,” she whispered.
He moved his mouth to the pink shell of her ear and murmured quietly, coaxingly. “You have to, nameo, my lover.”
“I can’t, Blade.” She shook her head and the golden curls danced on the embroidered pillow.
He laughed softly in frustration, trying to make her understand. He could no more violate the protective string than he could manhandle a small child or pistol-whip his grandmother. He nuzzled the curve of her neck with his nose and lips. “You must, love. I can’t take it off you.”
“I know.”
At her words he jerked back to look into her eyes. Too soon the realization of her meaning penetrated his passion-drugged mind. His breath came harsh and heavy between them. “You mean you won’t.”
When he moved away from her, Theodora felt as cold and abandoned as an orphan lamb lost in a New England snowstorm. She wanted desperately to give in to his demands. The need for his strong arms around her was overwhelming, and the sudden feeling of emptiness he’d left her with was torture. Defensive, she sat up and squared her shoulders.
“I warned you this wouldn’t be a real marriage, Blade. I went through that ceremony today only because there was no other alternative than to pretend to be your wife. But there are too many reasons why matrimony would never work for us. Can’t you see that? Don’t you see how incompatible our lives would be? When this expedition is over I’ll return to Cambridge to continue my botanical research with my father’s help. That’s always been my dream. And you’ll be crossing the plains again and again in your topographical work. It wouldn’t be wedlock, it’d be a long-term correspondence.” Seeing the look of cold fury on his face as he stood up, she couldn’t finish what she’d been about to say that she wanted him more than anything she’d ever wanted in her life, but until she sorted out her confused emotions, she couldn’t make a commitment to him.
Walking across the lodge, Blade bent and picked up the white blanket on which she’d been carried such a short time before. He wadded it up and tossed it across the space between them. It fell with a soft plop on the bed in front of her. “Whether you want to admit it or not, we are married, Theodora. Your place is beside me. Not with your father, and not in some musty library in Massachusetts. I am your husband. The only husband you’ll ever have. And I intend to be a husband in every way.”
He turned, strode to the doorway, and bent to leave. “Blade, where are you going?” In panic she climbed to her hands and knees in the middle of the bed.
“I’m going to do what every other rejected husband does,” he growled over his shoulder, and left the tipi.
The thought that he’d gone to another woman filled Theodora with despair. She lay on the bed in torment. Why couldn’t she make him understand her misgivings? She had always dreamed of sharing her life with a well-bred, cultivated gentleman. Someone like her own tenderhearted father. Cosmopolitan. A scholar, perhaps. Not a fierce, sometimes frightening, half-Cheyenne warrior who could strangle the life from a man with his bare hands and then toss the corpse aside without a twinge of conscience.
But Blade wasn’t always so ferocious, she admitted. Her mouth turned up in a wry smile. He could also be very sweet tempered. She remembered the thoughtful way he’d checked her sunburn, the tenderness he’d shown when he examined the cuts on her legs, and the concern in his eyes after he’d saved her from the Gros Ventre. He was a man of contrasts. A man she hadn’t even come close to understanding. She doubted she ever would .
She was wide awake, staring at the smoke hole in the roof, when Blade came back into the lodge in less than an hour. It had grown dark by then, and all that was visible was his solid outline against the open doorway. Quietly, he closed the flap and inserted the lodge pins. She sat up, wishing she could see his eyes in order to read the guilt in their ebony depths.
“You came back,” she said, trying unsuccessfully to keep the relief from her voice.
“Of course.” His voice revealed his surprise at her statement. As he moved to stand beside the bed, she scooted over for him. She heard the soft sounds of his breechclout being removed, then felt the mattress sink as he climbed onto the furs beside her.
Wordlessly, he reached over and lifted her into his arms. With rapid movements, he pulled her dress up and over her shoulders and head. The musical tinkle of the tiny bells sewn on its hem filled the quiet tipi, bringing an image of a Turkish harem with all its forbidden delights.
“What are you doing?” she asked in astonishment.
“Getting you ready for bed.” His tone was matter-of-fact. “From now on, in the privacy of our own lodge, neither one of us will sleep with our clothes on.”
All she wore now was the protective string. Theodora gasped as he enfolded her in his arms once again. Her naked breasts were pressed against his wet chest. She could feel his strong, bare legs entangling with hers. His whole body was cold and damp, and water dripped from his hair onto her arm. “You’ve been swimming!” she cried in amazement.
He chuckled at her surprise. “What did you think I was doing?” he teased, as he nibbled her earlobe. He pushed her against the pillow and leaned over her. His voice was gruff with concern. “You’ve been crying.”
Humiliated at his discovery, but thrilled at her own, Theodora slid her hands up his arms. She drew small circles around his shoulders, unwilling to tell him what she’d been crying about.
He bent and gently kissed both tear-stained cheeks. “I went for a cold plunge in the river, that’s all. I’m not going to hurt you, zeheszheemetovaz. I’m not going to ravish you against your will. And I’m not going to betray you with another woman.”
“I’m sorry. About everything.” She pressed her lips against his cold, moist chest, the springy hair tickling her nose. She kissed the scars on his shoulder. “What did you just call me?”
“You who are my woman.” Blade Stalker turned her around and brought her bottom into wanton contact with his thighs, teaching her the feel of his rigid arousal pressed against her soft little butt. He folded his arms under her breasts and buried his face in her sweet-smelling hair. “Do you know why it’s our custom to allow a shy young bride to wear the protective string with her new husband if she wishes?”
Theodora shook her head.
“It allows the newly married couple time to get used to each other. To the feel of undressing and sleeping together. It’s a wise custom, for it gives the young maiden a chance to relax in her bridegroom’s arms and learn the security and protection his love will surround her with, before he takes her virginity. The new groom respects the string for ten or fifteen days but no longer than that.” He kissed her ear and spoke in a low rumble. “Even a very shy young girl needs to learn her husband’s desires.”
“What do they do for those fifteen days?”
He chuckled. “To be specific, it’s usually less than ten.” He pulled her closer to him. “They get to know each other. Sometimes they lie awake talking all night long.” He rested his chin on the top of her head. “What do you want to talk about, little bluenose?”
For Theodora, the feel of his arms around her was heaven. She leaned her head back on his shoulder, enjoying the fresh, clean smell of him, the firm contours against her softness. “Tell me about your childhood. How did you get your Indian name?”
Idly, he caressed the smooth silk of her breasts, stroking the soft nipples until they were tightened peaks. Blade Stalker smiled to himself when she gasped at the touch of his hands upon her. Her chest rose and fell as she dragged air into her lungs; her heart thudded beneath his roving fingers.
“That was the spring of my twelfth year,” he said, using his iron will to keep the raging desire from his voice. He continued as though it were the most common thing in the world for her to be lying naked in his arms, his hands caressing her. “I had already been on my first buffalo hunt and had killed a young bull. But I was large for my age, more mature than my childhood companions, and anxious to count my first coup.”
“What was your name at that time?” The huskiness of her voice betrayed the wave after wave of pure, carnal pleasure she was experiencing for the first time in her life.
“Tall Boy. Just like Snow Owl’s son. Often names are repeated in my people’s families.”
“And so, did you count coup when you were only twelve?”
He chuckled at the disbelief in her voice. “My grandfather was leading a horse-raiding party that spring. I followed them secretly, making myself known only after they’d made camp at nightfall. Painted Robe was very proud of me, and all the older warriors treated me with respect and consideration. And when the time came to fight, I was given the same opportunity to distinguish myself as the other young braves.”
Theodora’s green eyes were wide with astonishment. “You were still a child!”
“You’d never have convinced me of that, vehona. A Cheyenne youth’s greatest ambition is to be brave and fight well. Since I was riding one of the fastest horses, I was chosen to be part of the party that charged the enemy’s camp. During the hand-to-hand combat, I was attacked by a Crow brave and counted my first coup.”
“You touched the other warrior?”
“No, I slit his throat.”
Blade Stalker waited while she digested this information. He didn’t want her to be afraid of him, but she needed to understand his heritage. And realize that he was capable of protecting his woman from anyone who might try to harm her. He kissed the top of her head. “What else do you want to know?” As he waited patiently while she searched for another topic, he continued his rhythmic ministrations .
“Tell me more about your childhood,” she finally said, her soft, languorous voice heavy with passion. She looked over her shoulder at him. “Unless you’re too tired and would rather go to sleep.”
He nuzzled her neck and shoulder, then lightly bit the creamy flesh. “There’s no hurry. We have all night, nameo. You’ll find that, like all my people, I am a great storyteller;”
Visitors came early the next morning. When Snow Owl and Deer Walking Fast entered the lodge, Theodora rose up sleepily on one elbow. She’d been covered by the white doeskin blanket sometime during the late hours. Blade was nowhere in sight.
“Wake up, sleepy bride,” Snow Owl called to her from the doorway. She smiled in understanding at Theodora’s wide yawn. “It’s time to get up. We brought you some wedding gifts.”
In their arms the women carried presents for the newlyweds. “Deer Walking Fast is a member of the Meenoistst, the quillers’ society. She has learned the sacred art of decorating robes for medicine men and warriors and has quilled some clothes for you and my cousin.”
“They’re beautiful,” Theodora told Snow Owl. She stroked the soft deerskin of Blade’s shirt and smiled at the thin, tall woman. “You must have spent many hours quilling.”
Deer Walking Fast beamed when Snow Owl translated the compliment. Together they examined the superbly fashioned outfits, which included leggings and moccasins, as well as a breechclout and shirt for Blade Stalker, and the dress for Theodora.
She laid the clothes on her bed. “Have you seen Blade Stalker?”
“He is hunting with his cousins, Bald Face Buffalo and Weasel Tail,” Snow Owl said. “They will bring back meat for today’s celebration. Now come; we want you to join us for the wedding feast preparations.”
The camp was bustling with activity when Theodora emerged from her lodge. Under the shelter built the day before, colorfully painted deerskins were spread on the grass. The women placed baskets of fresh wild plums, chokecherries, and dried Juneberries on the blankets. Large pottery jars were filled with steaming stews made of buffalo meat, sweet potatoes, and wild red turnips. All morning long the women worked, chattering among themselves. They smiled at Theodora and insisted she sit under the open shelter with them, but she was not allowed to help them.
Later that morning she and Snow Owl went down to the river to bathe, then she dressed in her new finery.
When the men returned from the hunt that afternoon, they brought packhorses laden with antelope and deer. The meat was soon roasting on open campfires while the men retired to the river to swim and change into their best garments.
All that day Theodora hadn’t seen her husband, except briefly when he rode in with the hunting party. Now he stood beside her, clothed in the soft deerskin shirt, breechclout, and leggings that Deer Walking Fast had given him, and she flushed, too embarrassed to speak. She remembered how they’d lain together, talking into the late hours of the night, until she’d finally drifted to sleep in his arms. She was totally, agonizingly aware of every movement he made.
“Did you get enough sleep, princess?” His eyes twinkled with mischief. “My cousin told me she finally had to enter our lodge and wake you up before you slept the day away.” He looked completely rested, not the least bit tired from the day hunting game, or the long night spent trying to seduce his wife. When she met his coal-black eyes, the open hunger in them brought a flush to her cheeks. She dropped her gaze to his mouth, and the memory of the pleasure of his lips sent desire surging through her. Nervously, she wet her lips with her tongue. Her voice sounded dry and cracked when she spoke. “No one would let me lift a finger with the preparations so I took a little nap this afternoon.”
“Good. I don’t want you overtired for the party.” He took her hand. The sight of her own small fingers in his strong bronze ones brought back the memory of his hands on her bare, white breasts. The unfulfilled longing he’d aroused in her the previous evening came crashing back.
She nodded, unable to answer him. Call it courtship, call it seduction, call it enticement or beguilement, he was building within her a need for him so great that it threatened to override all her firm resolve. She knew that if she allowed him to make love to her, she might confess just how much she did want him. Armed with that knowledge, he would never let her go.
“Snow Owl told me we’d be at the rendezvous in about ten days,” she told him, as though he’d just asked for the information.
He didn’t question her meaning. “Come on. Let’s sit down in the place of honor so the feast can begin.” He led her to one side of the shelter and they sat on a deerskin blanket together.
Everyone in the village wore their most festive clothing. The women’s antelope-skin dresses were decorated with discs made from deer toes, tufts of rabbit fur, bits of down feathers. Both sexes had painted stripes or checks on their cheeks and foreheads; some had even painted their hair part. Their braids were decorated with feathers and furs.
After everyone had eaten, the food and dishes were cleared away. One by one, Blade’s family brought them gifts. Deer Walking Fast and her mother gave Blade a buffalo robe, marvelously quilled and ornamented with bear claws. Gray Fawn presented Theodora with winter moccasins made from buffalo hide, with its long, shaggy hair inside to keep her warm in the snow. Tall Boy gave her a collection of porcupine quills, and his mother presented her with a brush cleverly made from a porcupine tail.
Their generosity overwhelmed Theodora, and she blinked back tears. Then Chief Painted Robe gave his grandson the peace pipe he’d been working on since they’d arrived. The look of love between the two men as he laid it in Blade’s hand brought the tears, valiantly held in check until then, streaming down Theodora’s cheeks. How could she have ever called these people monsters? It had been she, the ignorant stranger, who’d shocked them with her uncivilized behavior. The deep family ties that bound them together would transcend time and space.
The afternoon was waning as the tom-toms appeared. The children, who’d been racing around with their dogs and playing all afternoon, returned to the shelter. They were given a treat of sap candy as they sat down on the edge of the blankets, curious to watch their parents, uncles, and aunts. The braves lined up on one side of the shelter, some beating the tom-toms in a steady rhythm. Then the women took the floor. They danced to the beat of the drums and the shake of the rattles, never moving their feet, b
ut twisting and turning their arms and bodies in a slow, mystical weaving.
Then the braves ran onto the floor. They started slowly, increasing the tempo, faster and faster, until the speed of their dancing reached a frenzied tempo. They yelled and shook rattles and tomahawks over their heads. Some had streamers of feathers that whirled about them like tails. It was bedlam. In her fear Theodora reached over for her husband’s hand.
Immediately he covered her shaking fingers with his strong ones. “Don’t be frightened, nazheem, my woman. They’re just wishing us a long and fertile marriage.”
When the dancing ended, Chief Painted Robe stood alone in the middle of the shelter and spoke to the wedding couple. “My grandfather says you have a brave heart, little wife,” Blade Stalker told her. “He is proud that you are now his granddaughter. And he wants you to have this eagle feather as a sign that you risked your life to save the tribe’s youngest child. This is a high honor, for usually only the bravest warriors are entitled to wear an eagle’s feather.”
Painted Robe walked over to her and Theodora stood. He placed the feather in her hair, pointing it down as a sign of peace.
Blade rose and stood beside her, his eyes glowing with love and pride.
“Tell namsem I am proud to be his granddaughter,” Theodora said.
* * *
By the time Theodora and Blade returned to their lodge that evening she was relaxed and happy. But at the sight of the empty tipi, with its bed made of two mattresses pushed together and covered with large, thick robes, her nervousness returned. She stood at one side of the lodge and slowly removed the eagle’s feather from her hair. From the corner of her eye she saw Blade take off his deerskin shirt. He folded it in half, laid it over a backrest, and sat down on the bed to take off his moccasins. Then he stood and pulled down his leggings. Knowing he now was dressed only in a breechclout, she turned and crossed her arms around her waist, hugging herself in near panic.
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